Fall From Grace
by ItsAHopeForAllTheHopeless
Summary: The morning of the day I lost control it had rained one of those hard cleansing rains meant to scour every bit of grit and grime away. Instead the hot damp smell of the summer rain made me sick to my stomach the scent of jungle clogging my nose. A character study of Tim Shepard & What could have been
1. Chapter 1

_"Your Words are creeping at my feet I fear, sunrise will come too soon and you'll disappear"_

 **2015**

The sun's just beginning to rise staining the morning sky with shades of oranges and pinks. The summer air is heavy with humidity it's gonna be one hot summer rivaling the ones of my youth.

The prison gate slams unceremoniously behind me, for the first time in four and a half decades I'm completely alone. Nothing behind me but concrete walls, nothing ahead of me but forest and twisty dirt roads.

Speaking of the landscape whoever designed this shit hole of a prison was an idiot, who builds a prison next to a fucking forest? that's practically an open invitation to try to escape.

It's a startling shock to suddenly be in control of my life again there are no guards, sergeants, judges or lawyers telling me what to do and when to do it.

Slowly I started to make my way down the dusty dirt road. My clothes are plastered to my body; the heat is eerily similar to the choking temperatures of the Vietnam Jungles.

It's not exactly the same but its close enough that if I close my eyes, I can almost feel the heavy pack on my back and the gun clenched in my sweaty palms, Hear the shells exploding, the roar of the chopper blades and the smell of napalm burning.

* * *

 _"Look Out, they're coming after us with big guns, They're only gonna tell you all the bad things I've done"_

The judge had told me I was facing time in the state penitentiary or I could forfeit my jail time by serving on the front lines in 'nam. You can't get deals like that anymore, but they were so desperate for soldiers back then it didn't matter who you were or what you've done.

Me being the reckless almost twenty year old I was couldn't imagine having to be locked up for an indefinite period of time. So I took the offer and they stuck me in a unit of paratroopers.

We sure were an odd group hailing from all over the country; we had guys from New York, Los Angeles to Hick Towns in the middle of nowhere.

Majority of us had never seen fighting or seen someone die. They were barely eighteen accustomed to their sheltered lives never dreaming there was people out there who wanted to kill you simply for being an American.

That was nothing new to me I've grown up having a price on my head whether it was for being a greaser or my reputation.

* * *

 _" Even if the words they say aren't true they've won Now I'm left here dying in the Sun "_

The first time we encountered action many of them against all their training froze or panicked purely out of human instinct. The New York guys and I were the only one who remained calm sticking to our survival instincts ingrained from our years of growing up on the turbulent streets, In other words we were completely in our elements.

Fast forward about six months or so later there were only five of us remaining two guys from New York, one from Minnesota, One from Nevada plus me.

All the others hadn't made it including our sergeant. But the military being the military just gave us a bunch of new draftees and promoted the Minnesota guy like it was nothing.

I never really attempted to get to know any of the boys in my unit. Making friends wasn't my strong suit besides not knowing someone made it easier to not get distracted when they were killed. But nevertheless once you're in combat with someone your ultimately connected to them for life.

But there was this one kid, Jack James he wasn't like the others. He had this uncanny alikeness to Dallas Winston. Jack had Dally's volatile anger, though he wasn't quite as bitter as Dally had been at the end.

Some days I still can't believe that he's really gone it's like I almost expect to see him lounging on the hood of my car looking for a fight.

I was drawn to Jack as I had been to Dally. They both had seen too much in their lives and lived on the philosophy that the world owed them a good time.

Jack and I quickly fell into an uneasy sort of friendship near identical to my relationship with Dallas. Every fiber of my being was screaming at me not to get close, I should have listened, I wish to God I had listened.

Two weeks later Jack took a bullet to the chest, he never stood a chance just like Dally. A mere two inches and the bullet would have gotten me not Jack.

Fuzzily I can recall sliding to the ground and leaning against a tree struggling not to sob, my body wracking with tremors, my hands shook the rest of the day. In a twisted almost sick way I was glad Jack James was dead, because then he would never grow to become as bitter and spiteful as ole' Dallas was at the end.

Plus Jack being around was throwing me off my game. But it was so subtle only I had noticed. For years afterward I used to wonder if Jack was even real was he just a figment of my imagination conjured up by my heat addled brain to punish me.

Everything else from my time in Vietnam is hazy. I have brief memories of patrolling with some guy with a grating southern accent, jumping and being transported in a chopper and trying to convince a local woman that I was a paratrooper as she kept insisting I was a chicken man gesturing repeatedly at the bald eagle patch on my arm and flapping her arms for effect. Needless to say she had no information and wasn't helpful in any sense.

The only other clear memory is sometime during the middle of my second tour, I think it might have been December but who knows it's difficult to keep track of time over there.

My unit crossed paths with another unit for a short while and to my surprise there was Steve Randle looking as sullen as ever. I'd always liked him; he reminded me a lot of Dally, So much anger at world in those kids.

In the middle of the night we came under attack. I overheard on of the New York guys say "We own the day and the Viet Kong owns the night". Which is the honest truth the Viet Kong know the land like the back of their hands they don't need the daylight to know where they're going like we did.

It was mass confusion the Viet Kong was firing; we were returning fire while attempting to figure out where they were in the darkness. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Randle fighting a VK rebel he'd yanked out of the brush.

It was pure coincidence I even caught the flash of movement approaching Randle from behind. Immediately I retreated my post the overwhelming loyalty of being a greaser flooding my veins, I knew Randle and he has had my back before so the least I can do is return the favor.

With help from Randle and a couple other guys we managed to clear the brush of Viet Kong rebels but there was still a group of them shooting from somewhere.

"I'd rather be at a rumble, you can actually see the bastards you're fighting" I shouted to Randle.

Randle grinned and replied," well Shepard if ya weren't stupid enough to get caught stealing hubcaps you could be at a rumble right now!".

"Asshole" I yelled back my voice lost in the roaring noise.

* * *

Shortly afterward I was wounded in the head by airborne shrapnel and lost consciousness. That's the last time I saw Randle, though I heard in a roundabout way that he had been sent home addicted to painkillers, a common problem among soldiers since our personal first aid kits contained liquid morphine.

I woke up severely confused in a mobile hospital several weeks later; I was informed that I was being sent home reason being I'd nearly slipped into a coma.

The next thing I knew I was pumped full of painkillers and put on a plane with a dozen soldiers heading home. I tried to catch some sleep but eventually had to give up since the jarring turbulence and cheering soldiers were agony on my wounded head.

The man in the seat next to be suddenly poked me in the ribs, my eyes snapped open if I hadn't been so dizzy at the time I probably would have punched him for the interruption.

"You ok buddy, you look really pale?" The man asked his green eyes full of concern.

I lazily gazed at his uniform searching for his name, "I'm fine Carter" I replied dryly.

Carter shrugged, "just making sure you're not planning on passing out or something".

Another cheer rose up and I winced in pain before I could stop myself.

Carter looked at me worriedly before turned and yelling over his shoulder at the men behind us, "Put a sock in it Private!".

"Oh yeah who's gonna make me" A burly blonde haired man shouted in return rising to his feet.

The MP's appeared out of nowhere rushing to separate the two; The MP's threw Carter against his seat restraining him.

Carter meet my eyes his face full of anguish, "Army green was no safe bet" he whispered so softly that only I heard him.

The MP's dragged Carter to another part of the plane and I never saw him again.

* * *

 _"Seems Like I'm never coming home Seems Like I'm always on my own"_

 **1968**

The plane was dead silent as the airport came into view; we all had heard how soldiers were not being welcomed back with open arms. Everyone had their different views majority didn't fully understand why the United States was at war with North Vietnam.

The little information known to the public was horribly misreported and that's why the Vietnam War is misremembered. We had been essentially abandoned by our own government to fight a war created by politicians and bankers or at least that's what people said.

Solemnly we all departed the aircraft my head was pounding and was vision was blurry. The main terminal was a mass of activity people crying, hugging, kissing, talking or rushing to catch transfer flights.

I struggled to keep my balance while moving through the crowd. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted my brother, he had his back to me but I knew from the way he was standing it was him besides I've known the kid his entire life I should know Curly from behind by now.

Drunkenly I staggered towards him, my legs felt funny like jello sort of. Curly turned on his heel facing me his eyes were rimmed with red like he'd been crying.

That's funny Shepard's don't cry I thought as my vision went black.

Through a foggy haze I felt my senses returning to me, A clock was ticking somewhere on the left and the cars were rumbling by on the street.

There was softness underneath me very unlike the loose muddy dirt of my foxhole. Blearily my eyes opened, I wasn't in the jungle instead I was in my bedroom.

It looked the same as always chipped blue painted walls and mismatched furniture. Shifting I tried rolling onto my side but there was something lumpy next to me. I looked down in surprise to see my little brother curled up asleep his fingers gripping was shirtail bottom so tight his knuckles were tinged with white.

A horrible cold sick feeling crept up from my stomach consuming my body making it difficult to breath. Something had to be terribly wrong for Curly to act like this.

Otherwise he wouldn't be caught dead snuggling up to his big brother like a frightened child seeking comfort. Any other time if I hadn't been so scared myself I wouldn't have put up with such a show of affection and proceeded to throw him across the room.

Curly sighed and shifted in his sleep tucking his arm behind his head. His hair was hanging in his face making him look like a little kid, he is still a practically a kid my brain quickly reminded me he's only nineteen.

The same age I was when I was drafted a year and a half ago. I started shaking his shoulder vigorously to rouse him.

"What happened" I asked bluntly cutting to the point when his eyes finally fluttered open.

My brother took a hesitant breath not meeting my eyes, "Angela…she's dead" Curly whispered raspy hastily wiping at his eyes.

"What!" I thundered my mind reeling hoping I hadn't heard him clearly.

Angela couldn't be dead it was possibly she'd been just fine as far as I knew.

"Ask Mama" He mumbled throwing the covers over his head ignoring me like petulant child, well that didn't fly with me when I wanted something I got it any way possible.

I ripped the covers off the bed, Curly bolted to his feet making a move towards the doorway. I blocked him easily and we stood there toe to toe still as stone with matching looks of pure stubbornness on our faces.

I could see the gears turning in the kid's head Curly was planning his next more carefully hoping to outsmart me.

"I don't want to talk about it" Curly snarled through clenched teeth.

Instead of rushing forward to get past me out the down. I took several steps forward intending to hoist him up by his shirt collar; apparently I'd done that so many times he could predict it by then.

Curly leapt backwards his knees almost buckling as he rammed into the hard edge or the windowsill. Suddenly Curly smirked at me and jumped out the window backwards landing like a cat on all fours.

I swore loudly and slammed by fist into the wall, but I had to admit at least I'd taught the kid to leave in style.

Heeding my little brother's words I stepped into the narrow hallway. There was no answer when I knocked on my mother's bedroom door; slowly I pushed the door open.

The sight that greeted me will always be burned into my eyes for the rest of my days. My mother sat rocking back and forth surrounded by pictures of all of us as children.

Her hands were wrapped around one of her favorites a candid shot of my little sister at five years old turning her head over her shoulder grinning at someone behind her. Her long curls framing her face, she is unaware the photograph was being taken.

I cleared my throat to make my presence known; my mother looked up her eyes glazed and red she showed no recognition to who I was. For as long as I can recall my mother has always been a junkie she never had a preference just anything that could make her high.

I'm positive she was still shooting up while she was pregnant with each of us too, it's amazing we didn't turn out more fucked up than we did.

"Mama what happened?" I asked softly trying not to upset her more in her fragile state.

"That wretched husband of Angela's killed her" My mother seethed her eyes flashing with fury.

I slid down the doorframe my head was pounding my feelings were so jumbled my brain couldn't decide if it wanted to scream, cry or go beat the murdering bastard.

My mother began to study me seeming to recognize me, a mixture of emotions passed through her eyes.

"Why weren't you there to protect her Timothy" My mother spat with venom in her voice I'd never heard before. I froze stock still unable to form anything intelligent to say.

"Get out, get out now, It's all your fault" She yelled.

* * *

 _"One last phone call from you, it wouldn't hurt much, Just like hear your voice and pretend"_

 **2015**

Ever since Vietnam I've never needed a watch, I have other ways of telling time and judging from the sun I've been walking for an hour or so.

In the distance I can see the interstate with the cars speeding by, Gosh I used to love to watch the cars on the interstate wondering where they were heading.

Tucked off the shoulder is an old rustic Mom and Pop service station. It looks completely out of place in this modern world, but it brings a slight smile to my face as I yearningly think of my childhood days.

An old woman with white hair tied back in a tight bun is behind the counter flipping through a magazine. She raises her eyebrows at my appearance, I can't blame her my clothes are horribly outdated making me look like an extra for a cheesy '60s movie.

The large bins of assorted matchbox cars draw my gaze, and boom just like that in my mind's eye I'm seven years old again and the only thing I want most is to make my six year old brother and four year old sister be happy, not frightened.

My body aches all over from the overlapping patchwork of brown and blue bruises coating my skin. In the bins lays the colorful little cars, they only came out last year and they're still the coolest toy ever.

I had received one for my birthday last month from my father who decided to make one of his rare appearances. Curly hadn't been interested in the toy, Angela was the exact opposite she loved the little car to bits playing with it every moment she could.

A matchbox car of her own would make her the happiest little girl in Tulsa I decided. I balanced on the tips of my toes to reach into the deep bin, I was determined to get Angela that little car.

That small matchbox car was the first thing I had ever stolen, By the time I was a teenager I had graduated from stealing toy cars to real cars.

For old time's sake I carefully slipped one of the bright cars up my shirt sleeve, I had money to pay for it but it wouldn't have been the same, But still I felt guilty so I left some cash on the shelf above the bins.

The remaining change I used for the payphone outside another disappearing novelty. My fingers subconsciously dialed the number I sure hoped the phone number was still the same. The line rang twice before I heard the familiar rough voice in my ear.

"Hello Curly" I said quietly into the receiver


	2. Chapter 2

**2015**

Don Mclean was singing about pink carnations and pickup trucks as the small tan colored sedan rolled down the highway. The old Mom and Pop service station fading back into the dust of time.

As Curly drove it became painfully apparent Tulsa had changed immensely from the days of our youth. There was a shopping mall where the Dingo had stood and new shiny buildings filling the street corners.

Tension built up in my muscles and I found I couldn't stay still. As we approached the east side the buildings changed to familiar crumbling brick and boards.

The gangs had died down for awhile in the 70s with the hippie culture and the reign of the eccentric Motorcycle Boy. But that didn't last long a resurgence occurred in the early 80s. Tulsa had moved on but I hadn't and I'd learn to accept it in time.

* * *

 _"I Was Caught In The Crossfire of A Silent Scream_

 _When One Man's Nightmare Is Another Man's Dream"_

 **1968**

The emotions slammed into me harder than a rock faster than a bullet, my body just quit responding.

In the deep recesses of my brain my subconscious demanded a single command _Run._

So I did I ran and ran until I was panting so hard I could barely breath, my head throbbed with pain and the ground felt like it was spinning. I fell to my knees on the rough gravel vomiting forcefully. When it was finally over I rose to my feet and brushed the dust off my pants.

I was in the train yard, a favorite haunt of my gang, a widely known fact so nobody really went there besides the train yard workers and us. It truly was a calming place to be at night, nobody was around after 5 o'clock.

The only sounds were the lonesome whistles of the night trains passing through. I welcomed the sounds of the trains, in the jungles of Vietnam silence could last for weeks on end it was enough to drive some men to madness.

The crunch of boots on gravel split the night, I whirled around scanning for the threat automatically reaching to my side for my M-16 only to come to the startling realization it wasn't there anymore, it hadn't been since the day I was wounded.

I took my remaining option and tackled the figure coming around the side of the boxcar. We rolled around in the gravel deflecting each other's punches struggling to get the upper hand.

For a split second I'd nearly had won the fight but my attacker twisted out of my grasp and grabbed my shoulders throwing me up against the boxcar.

"What the hell!, Shepard?" A familiar voice panted behind me. I mentally groaned, my thought to be attacker was in fact my best friend and second in command Jimmy Nova.

Sighing Jimmy released me and lit a cigarette the tiny glowing flame of the match illuminating his face, he still looked the same, tireder maybe but still the same charming hood.

"Been a long time" I said quietly.

Jimmy exhaled slowly, "A lot's changed since you been gone".

"Angela's Dead"

"I Know"

"How"

"Apparently Terry Carlton's a wife beater"

"He been dealt with yet"

"No, we were waiting for you"

"Good tell the boys this is personal business, stay out of it"

"Will Do"

Jimmy crushed his cigarette under his boot heel slipping away into the darkness, Conversations with Jimmy were always straight and to the point, He never pried a skill that made him an excellent second in command.

I waited until I was positive Jimmy was long gone before I allowed myself to lose control. I slammed both my fists into the side of the boxcar furious my mother had been right Angela's death was my fault hell, I'd practically given her to her killer wrapped up on a silver platter.

It's always the quiet ones that surprise you. I would have never suspected Terry Carlton he always appeared weak never without his older cousin Keith.

The Carlton family moved to Tulsa in late 1966 not long before I went to 'Nam. Keith Carlton was desperate to join my gang and after months of him annoying the hell out of all of us, we voted to grant him a probation period.

I assigned Curly to keep an eye on Keith, I didn't trust him as far as I could throw him. Ever since he was a child Curly's had a knack for knowing people. He can tell by observing their body language and actions if they have good or bad intentions. Curly's talent has saved my ass more times then I'd like to admit.

While this was all going on Angela had become bored with her boyfriend Bryan and was on the hunt for new prey. She became intrigued with Terry and succeeded in seduced him one night at Buck's. A week later Angela was sobbing into my shoulder utterly convinced she was pregnant.

We didn't discover until after I'd enforced a shotgun wedding...Literally, that Angela wasn't pregnant it had been some sort of fluke thing.

The whole ordeal pissed me off and I went out on the town looking for a fight with anybody. Around midnight after several drinks and a bottle of liquor later, I decided to go steal some hub caps because apparently for some reason it sounded like a brilliant idea.

Stealing hubcaps is more complicated than it looks and sounds. First you gotta find a nice looking car that will be empty for a short while, then you have to remove all four hubcaps as quickly as possible without getting caught and you have to take all four because it's impossible to sell a single hubcap by itself.

It never crossed my drunken mind that I'd get caught, I've been stealing hubcaps since I was nine years old.

But I got caught and it was downright humiliating, All the Greasers were laughing there asses off telling the story to their friends for weeks afterward.

But I had other things to worry about which was how was my gang going to survive with me shipping off and what was quickest way to kick Keith off probation so he didn't stage a coup in my absence.

By the time the sun rose, I had a plan to punish Terry Carlton and I set off the find my little brother.

* * *

"Everyone says I'm someone else

And I'm sick and there's no cure Damned

if I know Who I am

There was only one place I was sure"

In Vietnam it would rain for weeks on end coating everyone and everything in films of water. The lukewarm rain ran down our shirt collars soaking deep into places it didn't belong lingering in our bones.

When it wasn't raining then there was heat, so hot it hurt to breathe pressing like a weight was laying on your chest. The smell of sweat and drying plants made a sickening combination making you almost long for the rain.

The morning of the day I lost control it had rained one of those hard cleansing rains meant to scour every bit of grit and grime away. Instead the hot damp smell of the summer rain made me sick to my stomach the scent of jungle clogging my nose.

Thinking back on it the whole plan was sloppier than any plan I'd ever had before usually I would spend days plotting every single detail. But this time it was different my grief and anger clouded all my decisions.

We staked out Terry's house waiting impatiently until dusk hopped up on adrenaline passing time by arguing over mundane topics and smoking.

The streetlights sputtered on bathing the dim street in hazy orbs of yellow. We moved smoothly as one person our dark clothing blending into the darkness seamlessly. Nobody locked their doors in those days and we crashed over the threshold noisily.

Terry had been lounging on the couch but was scrambling backwards a look of utmost terror on his face, he knew exactly why we were there. Lunging forward I hauled him to his feet throwing him up against the wall.

"Why" I Demanded looking into his eyes.

The terror slipped from his face replaced with a cold unfeeling smirk,"Bitch, got what she deserved" Terry said.

That was the first clue that Terry had prepared for our visit, the second was when his elbow slammed into my stomach knocking the air from my lungs. I crumpled to the ground black spots dancing in front of my eyes from lack of air and the surge of pain in my head. Damn this head wound was starting to get in my way.

Terry bolted in the direction of the hallway he had barely made it to the center of the room before Curly slammed into him like a linebacker. Damn I knew I should have had him playing football instead of baseball.

Terry and Curly grappled around on the floor viciously trying to get the upper hand. I didn't see the point in joining in Curly appeared to be doing fine besides I was waiting for the room to stop spinning.

Curly swung Terry into a headlock but Terry being the snake in the grass he was used their combined body crashed them backwards into the oak coffee table.

Terry grabbed Curly around the neck and flicked open a switchblade.

I sprang to my feet snarling, "What the hell do you think you're doing?!".

Terry pressed the blade into Curly's throat, "Come any closer and he's dead".

I looked at Terry's expressionless face to Curly's slightly panicked one. The whole world felt like it had slowed to stop, Anger overwhelmed me I had lost Angela, I couldn't lose Curly too, I just couldn't.

My hand slid into my jacket pocket hoping to find a weapon of any sort.

Blood was roaring in my ears as my fingers closed around cool metal, Slowly I drew it out keeping my eyes on Terry and Curly.

The last thought I can remember before losing control was that the switchblade wasn't mine, it was far too heavy.

* * *

TBC


End file.
